


Family values

by girl_called_sun



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_called_sun/pseuds/girl_called_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lerant of Eldorne has an arguement of sorts with his older, scholarly brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family values

The little room was the very definition of scholarly calm. The walls were lined with books, the desk stacked high with piles of cream parchment, behind which a dark haired man could just be seen. He was writing steadily, and the only sound besides the creak of his quill on the parchment were the mild sounds University life floating through the open window.

That was, until the door bounced back off its hinges and slim young man hurled himself into the small study. The writer looked up, seemingly un-startled, and raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“So, little brother, had another successful day, refusing the myriad offers of employment thrown at the feet of the youngest scion of house Eldorne?” Gideon asked sweetly, looking up from his parchment.

“Shut up,” Lerant answered. “Just...do not speak. For a bit, if you can. Just a little...” he collapsed onto the small couch, crushing the piles of scrolls that were being temporarily filed on its worn velvet cushions.

“Lerant!” Gideon exclaimed, exasperated. “Those are the draft copies of my thesis on the philosophical basis of empirical theism in the Western Lands!”

“Three seconds,” Lerant commented, voice slightly muffled by the arm thrown over his face. He sat up, and looked at his brother, who was twiddling a quill and scowling lightly at the lack of respect shown for paper by his own flesh and blood. “Today was awful. Awful in new and original ways.”

Gideon set his quill down. “And you are surprised?”

“The Black Company was polite, but 'regretted to inform me their ranks were full at the present time.' Huh.”

“Oh, Lerant. Turned down by the mercenaries.” Gideon's tone could have passed for sympathetic if you didn't notice the smirk on his face. “When are you going to give up this nonsense?”

“When I get a place as a warrior,” Lerant snapped, sitting up to glower at Gideon. “I'm as good as anyone – all I need is a break...”

“Which you are never going to get. No one wants to associate with traitors.” His voice was cold and he pulled his perfect mouth into a cold sneer. Gideon had the classic family looks; glossy chestnut hair, green eyes, and bone structure that made sculptors scrabble for their chisels.

“Oh, and how have you got this comfy sinecure at the University? All you need is one chance, if you're good enough.”

“Lerant, I admire your mindless optimism, but you are surely lacking all the facts. Everyone knows I bought my position,” Gideon said, voice dripping sarcasm.

“Ridiculous slander. You're the best new philosopher Tortall has produced in a generation.”

“That is true,” Gideon conceded.

“You see, quality will out,” Lerant reiterated.

“Also, the family fortunes are sadly depleted. Really, it was blackmail and favours of a personal nature...”

“Urgh, Gideon!” Lerant hurled a scroll at his brother, “I do not want to know!” He sunk his head into his hands, fingers tangled through his wavy blond hair. “I really need to get a job.”

Gideon looked at his little brother. Lerant wasn't classically Eldorne in his looks: he was slim and muscular, with fair hair and grey eyes. His features were only just maturing away from the elfin cast they had maintained throughout adolescence, although his nose would probably never improve much. More than that, the boy was a romantic, an idealist; he possessed a prickly, prideful exterior, but deep down he had principles. Gideon could feel himself frown at the very idea, the un-Eldorne-ness of it.

“Why must it be Tortall?” he asked, voice quiet. “If you're as good as you maintain, there's the Copper Isles, the Sarain border, the Gallan Foreign Legion. You could easily find a place.”

“You don't get it,” Lerant said, voice still muffled by his hands, “that's running away. Hiding. I'm as good as anyone, and I deserve a chance to prove it. Prove what an Eldorne can do, show all those old Conservatives an Eldorne can succeed.”

“Because Aunt Delia was such a failure. Leave my scrolls alone!” he cried, ducking. “Philistine.”

“It would have been alright if she'd managed to kill the King, would it?”

“Do I need to inform you that history is written by the winners?”

“Gideon,can you let up for just a minute?” Lerant almost pleaded, clawing at his hair, “just for one minute? Let the cynical, world weary act go?”

“What act?” Gideon asked softly. “This is the way the world, is, Lerant. Dumb luck and the popular touch, that's what is all boils down to. To be clever, or skilled, means little. If it isn't pretty, doesn't make the crawling masses feel good about themselves, out it goes!” Gideon was on his feet now, gripping the edge of the desk in white-knuckled hands. “So long as there's a shiny crown on their head, the chattering peasants don't care what sort of mess the idiot in so-called-charge of the country makes!”

There was a moment of silence between the brothers. The birdsong drifted up from the quadrangle below, on a waft of a soft spring breeze.

“That's technically treason, Gideon,” Lerant said softly.

“Going to report me?” Gideon sat back down, smoothed the green brocade of his doublet. “Trade me for a place in the Palace Guard?”

“Don't be an idiot,” Lerant snapped, “you're meant to be the clever one, but, Gods, you do talk rubbish. Anyway, wasn't one of your papers on the stability a popular monarchy provides?”

“It's called funding, Lerant. Because you may manage to survive on fresh air and lofty ideals, but I like proper meals and a roof over my head. Plus a real scholar must understand and be able to argue both sides of the hypothesis.”

“How do you turn declarations of treason into examples of your brilliance?” Lerant asked. “Always! Since we were little. I have never been right in my life!”

“You're certainly not right at the moment,” Gideon pointed out.

“Right, Lord Scholar, you can see both sides of every argument. See my side of this for a while.”

“I am not unsympathetic, Lerant. I mean, I'm letting you stay here, aren't I? I just think you're doomed to fail.”

“Piss off, Gideon.”

“Bite me, Lerant.”

There was another brief silence. The bells could be held, and a following clatter of feet and voices as a class emptied out of a nearby classroom.

“Why don't you take some courses?” Gideon asked, after a while. “You aren't as stupid as you look, thank Mithros.”

“In what? I don' t think they do an Eldorne course in treachery and seduction.”

“No-o, that would be an extra-curricular activity,” Gideon dead panned. Lerant couldn't help but laugh. “That's better,” Gideon continued, “you see, you don't have to be fixed on this warrior thing. There are many paths you could take, at which you could succeed.”

“I know, but to serve Tortall – it'd sort of wipe the slate clean. For good. For us all.”

“Save me from the Chivalry of the young.”

“You're three years older than me,” Lerant observed.

Gideon ignored him. “I don't have any of these ridiculous chivalric tendencies, though.” He tapped his temple with one long finger. “Clear thinking.” He nodded.

Lerant sighed. “I just always imagined being a Knight, at least a soldier. Great deeds. Making a difference to the world, doing the right thing.”

“The right thing,” Gideon opined, “depends on where you stand.”

“Do not start on morals,” Lerant intoned. “Please, Gods, no.”

“If you read the paper I wrote...”

A knock on the still ajar door interrupted the familiar squabble. A palace servant nodded politely, and held out a scroll tied in blue ribbon. “For my Lord Eldorne,” he said quietly. Gideon started to stand. “Um, the young Lord Eldorne, my Lord,” he corrected, looking to Lerant, who frowned massively and took the scroll.

“My thanks,” he said, dismissing the servant, who retreated and shut the door tight behind him. Which was a fortunate occurrence, because on reading the scroll Lerant had to lean again something solid.

“What is it?” Gideon asked. Lerant looked quite pale, his lips pressed in a straight, bloodless line.

“It's from my Lord Raoul of Goldenlake, Knight Commander of the King's Own,” Lerant said quietly, “he says he has a position within the ranks of the Own to which I may be suited. He wants to meet me tomorrow.”

Gideon paused, mouth half open. Later, he would admit to himself the moment was while he debated internally between several fine retorts: 'ah, the pity of fools, such a comfort to us all,' was going to be first choice, but he stopped. He saw hope light his little brother's eyes, and even Gideon of Eldorne was not that cruel.

Lerant glanced up, discomfited by Gideon's unusual silence.

“He's heard how good you keep saying you are,” Gideon filled, slipping into comfortable teasing. “Gods know he'll be disappointed when he actually sees you.”

“One chance, Gideon. All I ask for, all I need,” Lerant assured him. He ran his fingers through his hair, rolled, unrolled and re-read his message. “Giantkiller...” he murmured.

“You going to go and practice, then?” Gideon inquired. “Or just leave it all up to your native talent and good looks?”

“At least I look as if I know one end of a sword from the other!”

“The pen is mightier than the sword, dear brother,” Gideon waggled his quill. “Or at least tends to be wielded by mightier minds.”

“Hah,” Lerant, “much as I love this, I am off to hone my fine combat skills. See you later, Gideon.”

Gideon crossed to the window, and watched Lerant trot away to the practice yards, ignoring the deeply embarrassing punch his little brother threw in the air. He wondered if Roaul's patronage was pity, or clever politicking, a salve to old guilts, or a mere good deed. Those happened, occasionally, he had heard tales of them on dark nights. Was such a favour the same as the discrimination usually shown to those of House Eldorne, only coming from the opposite direction? Gideon thought he knew, in a cold and hard way, but he let that thought flicker away. He had seen Lerant's face, what this meant to him. Gideon knew how stubborn and tenacious his brother was, and that he really did need only one chance. It did not matter where it came from; what did matter was what Lerant could do with it. What Lerant would do with it. Gideon did not believe in much, besides logic and learning and the casual cruelty of the lazy and ignorant, but deep in what remained of his heart, he believed in his brother.

Hope was rusty in his chest, but he hoped that one day, others could believe in Lerant, too.


End file.
